The Quiet Ache for Less

Some stories come to us polished—after the leap has already been made, the job quit, the road taken. But others arrive mid-threshold, in the aching, uncertain place between the life that is and the life that could be.

This is one of those stories.

Jordan isn’t here to tell us how he made it. He’s here to say: I haven’t yet. But I want to. And that, to me, is just as brave.

What follows is a raw, honest reflection of someone who’s spent years doing what he was told—trying to make others proud, trying to fit into a version of life that was never truly his. Now, like so many of us, he’s standing at the edge, staring into the unknown, wondering what it might look like to trade more for less. To choose meaning over money. Creativity over conformity. Presence over productivity.

This is Jordan’s story. And if you’ve ever felt stuck, sick of it all, or secretly dreamed of a tiny home, a camera, and a life on your own terms—this one’s for you.

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The Quiet Ache for Less—by Jordan

I am stuck. I am never happy at any of my jobs. I've always done what I thought ought to be done. Up until very recently, I’ve worked hard to live a life I thought would make other people proud of me. I'm so tired of that.

I dream every day of a life where I have only what I need—which includes the ability to do and have things that make me genuinely happy. I just need a tiny home (or maybe no home at all), my camera, and a way to share my photography with others.

I want my work to be meaningful. I don’t want to work just to pay my bills, forcing myself to take whatever job is available. This life is making me sicker and angrier by the day.

I want something else for myself. I want less.

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Thank you for sharing this, Jordan. What you wrote is something I hear over and over again—this quiet ache for less. For a life not built around paychecks, productivity, or pride in the eyes of others, but something simpler. Something soul-aligned.

In I Don’t Want to Grow Up, I wrote:

“We get pressured to decide, so we pick a career just to pick something—to fit in—and to make our teachers, parents, and elders happy. Then we wake up to that hysterical alarm clock fifteen years later and wonder: Why the hell am I so damn miserable?”

You’re not alone in this. You’re just waking up. That quiet hunger for less? That yearning for a life of simplicity, meaning, and self-expression—it’s not a crisis. It’s your compass.

You said: "I just need a tiny home. Or maybe no home at all. My camera. A way to share my photography." That’s not nothing. That’s the beginning of a life built around your purpose.

In Nature’s Silent Message, I wrote:

“We think we have freedom, but are we truly free? How many of us can choose what we want to do tomorrow? Most of us are locked into our schedules, chained to our routines... Freedom has become a myth, a distant dream, some ideological notion we long for, yet rarely obtain.”

But you—you’re starting to break free. Even just admitting what you want is an act of rebellion in a world built on conformity.

You don’t need to bulldoze your life overnight. Just pick one small thing that moves you closer to that dream. Carve out time each day for photography. Start a quiet little corner online where your images can live. Camp in the back of your car for a weekend and see what it feels like. Borrow freedom in doses if you can’t buy it outright.

And please know—meaningful work doesn’t have to mean prestige, or a salary, or even structure. In the same book, I wrote:

“It is our duty to live exciting lives, so that we might share our experiences with others, and inspire them to do the same. Is there any other logical explanation for our existence?”

That’s what you’re trying to do through photography. You’re not trying to escape responsibility—you’re trying to live on purpose.

And it’s okay if you don’t know the whole path yet. I didn’t either. I just kept taking the next right step. In the end, it’s not about building a career—it’s about building a life you don’t need to recover from.

You said: “This life is making me sicker and angrier by the day.” That’s your soul speaking up for itself. It’s begging you to choose you.

Keep going. The freaks, the artists, the dreamers—we need you. And you don’t need permission from the world. You were born free.

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I started out with a blog nobody read.

It was just a few photos and some words scribbled beneath them. At first, it was about capturing moments—light hitting the trees just right, a quiet bend in the trail, a place where the world held its breath. But over time, the photos needed context. The silence begged for story. So I started writing.

Not because I had a business plan. Not because I thought it would lead to anything. But because something in me needed to speak.

Making a living as an author didn’t happen overnight. It happened one post at a time. One email. One follower. Then another. And another. No lightning bolt. Just consistency. Curiosity. Love. A desire to tell the truth.

This wasn’t work. This was my life’s purpose.

And it all started with sharing what mattered to me—even when no one was listening.

So if you’re there right now, Jordan—or anyone else reading this—just know: that quiet life you're dreaming of? It's already reaching back. You’re closer than you think.

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Jordan is happy to answer your comments, so please feel free to leave some encouraging words if his story resonates with you.

And if you’ve been standing at your own threshold, questioning the path you’re on, craving something quieter, freer, more you—I’d love to hear it.

This space is for all of us. For the in-between moments. The honest ones. The ones still unfolding.

You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You just have to be willing to speak.

Share your story using the link below. You can remain anonymous if you’d like. Raw is welcome. So is unfinished.